There are times when life tosses things at us, tosses things to us, and takes things away from us. The thing is we can't honestly predict the future. There are no facts in the future someone wise once said to me.

Recently I found out that I was going to be a grandmother. Woah that was something that took me entirely by surprise when I heard the words. I instantly was overcome with deilight, and amazement. My baby is having a baby! then I got the second bit of news. They wanted me to be in the delivery room. Woah! I was both honored and terrified. I didnt know if I had what it took but I sure as heck was going to show up and give it a go. The experience was heartwarming, educational, funny, inspiring and amazing. And now we have this little bundle of sunshine, puke, giggles, joy and pure wonder, and we cant imagine our lives without him. I painted the piece above for him. The words "It takes a village to raise a child" are said to be an African proverb. and I added the part below that reads "And that child bonds us all together." the idea behind this piece is to have everyone close in this little guys world to sign their names to the piece along the longitude and latitude lines. Doing so is to say we are here for you, we are your family, whether we be friend or family, we are all bonded together by you dear one. When he is old enough to sign his name and understand what it means to add it to the piece, to his village, then he can do so.It is my hope the piece will live a long life aside him and that names will be added to it for as long as he so wishes.

Now if thats not enough for the universe to have thrown my way how about this. Years have passed since the car accidents that altered my physical self. I went through a lot of rehab, some surgeries, and put in a great deal of work to recover and become a woman of physical strength once again. Now, it seems the surgery has come undone, and I find myself currently with 5 torn muscles and ligaments in my shoulder. One might think i tried to lift a bus from the bottom of the sea in order to have done this, but it just took a bit of living and here I am, once again, slightly broken. Okay, am I happy about this recent toss from the universe? hell no. but will I rise to the occasion? hell yah. Why? because thats what life is all about. "It is better to light a candle, than to curse at the darkness" a wise Eleanor Roosevelt once said. I happen to have a soft spot for Eleanor Roosevelt. She was a strong woman with a wise head and heart, and it seems, if family stories are correct, that she was a friend of our grandmothers. I dont know if the stories are true, but either way, I like her take on many things. "Remember always that you not only have the right to be an individual, you have an obligation to be one." Another one of my favourtites. I strive to honour my individuality in my personal life as well as my art. The subjects I paint, the mediums I choose, all vary on a regular basis. I swing from one to another with great comfort. I am proud to announce that I have just been featured in the November/December '2018 issue of Boulevard Magazine Okanagan! The piece is entitled "Have Paintbrush Will Travel" and the link can be found on my website www.pattyfeist.com or by following this link https://issuu.com/boulevardlifestylesinc/docs/2018_11_blvdok_web/26

Thank you David Wylie for writing the piece and Darren Hull for the photography.

So you see, life is here to keep us on our toes. i didnt see the baby coming, I didnt see my shoulder breaking again, and I certainly was not expecting to be featured in this beautiful Magazine. I have my baseball mitt ready to catch whatevers coming my way. Do you? Come on people, this is our life, let's bat it out of the park!

It would be fair to say I didn’t see this coming! You can’t make this crazy stuff up. It’s called life

.It was my first night in the African jungle and I was in awe. The lodge that would be our home for the next three nights was set deep in this wild paradise. My friend Prit and his close friend Kay were born in Africa so I knew I was in good hands on this adventure. Our dining table was set under a starry sky, a bonfire burned nearby, and it was our hope that the leopard that was spotted earlier would stay away with the bright flames lashing nearby. We were surrounded by lush trees, that earlier had monkeys swinging to and fro. Africa was already more than I could have imagined. i was eager to see lions, elephants, zebras and so much more. Little did I know what was coming. But then again, we never do know what’s coming next, do we?

I spotted it out of the corner of my right eye, a scarab beetle. They get up to 2 ½” and can carry 250 times their own weight. I wasn’t too worried, but just in case, my feet were tucked up on the inside of the table, safely off the ground. My friends looked at me, the city girl, with reassurance. Yah, I got this. I sat back in my comfy chair and took a sip of red wine. I had dressed in a new white linen set of slacks and blouse for the occasion, because that’s important. Not. A few minutes passed when I spotted something new approaching us, it looked like a cardboard box with legs. Imagine a 2 inch square cardboard box running at high speed in a wildly erratic fashion and quickly making its way towards us. Both the men make eye contact with me but show no expression before averting their eyes back to this strange new creature. I got this, my feet are safely tucked away, I’m fine. Then it happened. The box came barreling at me and ran up the back leg of my chair towards my head. I screamed, Prit leapt with amazing speed out of his chair, swatted the attacking spider into the distance, and sat back down. We laughed, I drank more wine, and we talked about how fast those boxes could run! Then it returned. The son of a b*tch returned! It was headed on the same erratic path, changed direction at the last second, and ran up the leg of Prit’s chair. He jumped, his arms flailed, and with great gusto he sent the cardboard box flying off into a distant galaxy! We laughed and resumed our dinner. Not much time passed when out of the corner of my left eye I saw it. It was long and red, had a zillion legs, and was the thickness of one of my fingers, and it was approaching us at a much slower pace than the cardboard box. It seemed intent on its path. A path I was directly in line with. Feet tucked? Check. I got this. More eye contact between the three of us. No words were spoken. I held my own from the terrifying wormy thing, that is until it got within inches of my chair, then I lost my sh*t. Faster than you can imagine I was out of my chair, screaming at the top of my lungs “I don’t f*cking do worms! I don’t f*cking do worms! I ran behind Prits chair, repeatedly screaming those words over and over until he calmed me down and Kay got out of his chair and kicked the red thing into orbit. More eye contact ensued, then Prit spoke in a calm tone, his words were directed at Kay, but he nodded his head in my direction. “She doesn’t f*cking do worms.” We simultaneously burst out in laughter and I returned to my seat. Then Kay offered these words, “Good call, those bite and can be very painful.” Another sip of my red wine was in order. I think I lost my appetite at that point. We chatted, they ate, I took a sip of wine and just then something smashed into my cheekbone below my right eye. The sound of the impact was oddly loud, like the smack one makes when you slap your hands together!. I screamed, the mouthful of red wine spattered over the dinner table, covering our food and my white linen outfit. I was up and out of my chair yelling, flailing, jumping and swatting at my face and hair. “What the f*ck was that, what the f*ck was that?” was all I could muster. We don’t know what it was, other than it was big, and that it too got batted into the same orbit as the other strange creatures before it. We didn’t linger too long after that. I think my heart couldn’t take any more, and nobody was going to touch their food seeing as it was now covered in regurgitated red wine! I was ready for the safety of the bed in our awaiting bungalow. When it was time for lights out something made Prit decide to look under my pillow, he doesn’t know why he did it, he just did. (I was still in the washroom at this point, trying to wash the red wine out of my clothes, and didn’t know what was happening.) low and behold there lying under my pillow was an 18” lizard! You can't make this sh*t up! Prit quickly scooted it out of the bed before I could see. Then he decided to lift up the sheet to make sure there were no more surprises. much to his shock there on my side of the bed was a cardboard box spider waiting to greet me when I jumped in. Prit scooted it out of the bed and by the time I climbed in it was as though nothing had happened and I was none the wiser. It wasn’t until four days later, after our departure from this paradise, that I would learn about the creatures that awaited me in my bed that first night in the African jungle. Wow, I didn’t see that coming! Any of it!

The spiders make for a great story but truly the entire experience of being in Africa was incredible. We found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a military coup and watched history in the making. An experience I will never forget. If you get a chance to visit Zimbabwe, take it, you wont be let down. And yes, I absolutely will return one day soon to this special place, the spiders did not scare me off!

. We sat amidst herds of elephants, zebras, water buffalo, giraffes, and we fished amongst crocodiles and hippos. Africa has much to offer and I found myself inspired in every direction, not in the direction of the spiders perhaps, but I did manage to paint an elephant, some zebras, and some hippos thus far. I am certain time will bring more of my African experiences to the canvas. To see my latest work please browse my website pattyfeist.com

life is certainly full of surprises and we never know what’s coming next. Aint life grand!

Life is full of surprises. Now there’s a statement we can all agree on. There isn’t a person amongst us that has not been completely delighted, dumbfounded, disheartened or disturbed by what has been laid out on their path as they innocently, or not so innocently meandered this planet’s surface.

You may or may not have noticed that nary a blog has left my fingertips in the last year. An entire year. I am neither delighted, disheartened, disturbed nor dumbfounded about this fact. What I am is….. I guess I was just in need of a little time. Time to heal from the various damages that I had sustained over the past while.

The truth of the matter is, I went travelling a year ago, even posted something called “The Travelling Artist” so that I could keep my friends in the art world, as well as family members apprised of my whereabouts and my creative endeavors. But alas, there weren’t any. Why? Because I broke myself. Well my hand at least. That put an end to my creative ways for quite some time. But now, I am healed, in all sorts of ways, and I am ready to get back in the saddle. To be honest, I have been in the saddle the entire time. I just chose to slow down and enjoy the ride in a different fashion.

Over the last year I travelled through 8 countries. I know how fortunate that is. Each and every place I visited left its mark on me in some way. Some in brilliant, artistic ways, others in damaging and dark ways. But, I wouldn’t change a thing. All of it will be reflected through my brush, it is merely a matter of time. I have already painted several pieces, even one while I was still in the cast. Amazingly enough I quite love that piece. I call it “Broken”. I have had a few people interested In owning the piece, but it is one I think I will hold onto, as a reminder that we all get broken once in a while, and that it is okay. In fact it sometimes is necessary. So I say embrace it. If you get broken, wear it with pride, paint it, write it, sing it. For on the other side of broken is something wonderful waiting for you.

I recently was commissioned to do two large paintings. I would like to share with you what a brilliant process that was. The gentleman that asked me to do the works allowed me complete freedom. How lovely that was. I spent a few hours getting to know him, looked around his home, and then I set out to honor him by creating two pieces that I felt would resonate with him, and who he was as an individual. The process was wonderful. I am excited to show you the pieces which are located on my new website. Please take a look and enjoy. The new pieces are entitled “Unfold Your Own Myth” and “Rise up, Whispers The Wind. One of the new pieces contains graffiti. And oh how much fun I had dappling in that freeing form of expression. Graffiti is sure to show up in my next paintings, especially since, I am in Cyprus right now, and low and behold Cyprus has some absolutely amazing street artists! What a wonderful surprise it was for me when I came across street after street of this type of art. You can see some of their work in the photos I have included with this blog.

If you have a chance, go to Cyprus. Delve in the old town and its art filled streets, dip your toes into the warmth of the Mediterranean, dine on the delicacies of the sea , and above all, Dare to live a life that delights and delivers all that you deserve.

Ever wonder what happens if you ignore the universe? Let’s just say that one minute life is seemingly quiet and the next thing you know you have peanut butter in your hair, you’re missing a shoe and you are crazy glued to a wall.

For the purpose of this story I am going to refer to the universe as “Alice”. If I am to give the universe a name, Alice seems oddly appropriate. I have come to realize that Alice always gets her way, that she is patient and has a wicked sense of humor. In the game of life, Alice is always at the top of the scoreboard. The score over the last few months for Alice and I is somewhere around Alice 13 - Patty 0.

Allow me to take you back several months. I was travelling about various countries rarely ever sitting still. It would be fair to say I had experienced some changes in recent months and I chose to take this time in my life to go travel. Sitting still and contemplating it all was not something I was interested in doing. Then the universe struck. I injured my right hand in an exciting outdoor event. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exciting. The doctor at the hospital referred to it as the “Garden injury.” Yes, it’s that lame. I hurt my hand while sitting on the grass. As much as it pains me to admit it, that is the story in its entirety. I sat down, I got up. I broke myself. I broke my painting hand! Alice 3 points. You see, Alice knows no boundaries. That breathtaking, physical activity resulted in five casts, one surgery and months of recovery. Alice waved her magic wand and turned me into a complete Klutz. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t travel, write, paint, or draw, let alone put on my mascara! Alice was saying "Okay sweetheart, you wouldn’t slow down when I told you too, so now I am going to mess with you to really get your attention". And so she did. I am not liking Alice much at this point.

My normal is no more. I am discovering a new normal, a bit like a toddler trying to figure out how to climb a fence for the first time. I get up a few inches, then I stumble back down. I get up and I fall flat. I get up and almost make it, then get my foot caught on the gate and end up hanging upside down until someone comes and saves me. One appreciates the determination, but can’t help but laugh at the comedy of it all. Here are a few of the “highlights” courtesy of Alice. Let’s begin with socializing. Girls night out is always fun and on this particular evening my good friend and I found ourselves seated at a small table in the heart of a nice lounge located in the main city on a tiny island in the the Irish Sea. My friend introduced me to some of her friends, one of whom she thought looked like a famous and handsome actor. We all chatted for a while and then I excused myself and went to the ladies room. As soon as I entered the cubicle I knew I was going to have a problem. Sporting a brand new cast on my right hand made various tasks difficult if not somewhat impossible. I could unbutton my slacks, this wasn’t an issue, but doing them up was going to be an entirely different matter. I had on the cutest pair of Italian trousers, but the button was extremely awkward to do up. I approached my friend back at the table and gave her a look. She furrowed her brow and said “What?” I lowered my eyes to my cast then down towards my undone button. She tried, ever so discreetly, to do up button, but was unsuccessful. Her attractive gentleman friend looked on while trying to conceal his amusement. I finally turned and looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and hoped she would just hurry up already. Finally, with frustration in her voice, she said “I can’t do it.” I felt like a small child. I looked at her friend and shrugged my shoulders once again. His eyes went to my button and back up to me. He then proceeded to do up my pants and hold back the grin on his face. We all laughed. And yes, you could say that I was embarrassed that George Clooney had to do up my pants in public. Alice 5 points I will say that George was a gentleman and we remain good friends to this day. Thank you George.

Then there’s domestic duties. Imagine trying to cut a loaf of hearty, thick crusted bread wiith one hand. ……………. Exactly. Don’t try it. Just don’t even try it. Alice 6 points. Ever try to operate a pepper grinder with one hand? It’s a little bit like trying to operate a jackhammer with a feather. Don’t try it. Did you know pepper corns can travel 12 feet in every direction? Alice 7 points.

Let’s not forget exercise. I decided to go for a hike. I couldn’t do much else so it seemed like a good idea. I grabbed my keys and headed to the car. (Yes, I was driving. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be driving!) Only when I got to my car I didn’t have my keys. I looked in my pockets, no, not there. I ran back up to the third floor, maybe I left them in the door? Sure enough, there, dangling from the door was my house key. Since when did I do that kind of thing? But that was only my house key, where were my car keys? I stood there with my eyes closed retracing my steps. I recall going downstairs, putting the garbage in the bin outside, and then going to my car. The Bin! Had I dropped my keys in the bin with my clumsy hand as I placed the bag inside? Maybe? Just then I heard the dreaded beeping sound of the garbage truck. I ran over to the window and looked down to see the truck slowly backing up in the direction of my bin! I flew down the three flights of stairs, at break neck speed, and darted out the door in the direction of the hungry iron jaws. I threw open the lid of my bin and began rifling through the garbage as the truck slowly made its approach. I spotted my keys halfway down the bin. I burst out laughing. Seriously? This is the new me? Alice 9 points! After dusting off the coffee grounds my eyes went up to the elderly neighbors that had apparently been watching me. I smiled sheepishly and once again shrugged my shoulders. But that wasn’t the end of it. By the time I returned from my hike I could barely walk. My back had gone out. Badly. It happens on occasion. And today Alice made it happen in a way that was not to be ignored. It would be months before my back would recover. Alice 13 points

So you see, Alice forced me to not just slow down, she forced me to stop everything. Okay Alice I get it. When we don’t listen to ourselves, to our hearts, heads, bodies, we get reminders that refuse to be ignored. Life is a work in progress for all of us. There are times when we just need to take care of ourselves. The end. That’s it. I can say Alice is my friend now. She no longer trips me when I am not looking, or hides my car keys. Now Alice blows gentle breezes on me and smiles down upon me as I meander, ever so slowly, to only Alice knows where. i listen now, or at least try to. The moral of the story. Don’t piss off Alice. Or maybe, it is more that we need to think of Alice as our big sister. And big sisters always know what’s best for us.

Every promise we make is an important one. Whether it be to ourselves or to someone else. A promise is a promise, is a promise.

Sitting on the table beside me is my trusty jean jacket. The same jean jacket I wear whenever, and wherever, I travel. This little coat goes with me everywhere I go. As I travelled throughout Italy recently the jacket was always on the front seat of my car or tied around my waist as I toured village after village in search of my next artistic inspiration. When I spent a month in France painting, my prized jacket was always there for me to perch myself on as I painted on a grassy hillside or protect me from the breeze as I photographed landscapes. My trusted fabric companion, always there when I needed warmth or a touch of Bohemian fashion.

And then it happened. I lost a button. I searched high and low, in my car, my Italian apartment, but no button was to be found. for a moment I thought I could just take a button off the sleeve, I could live without one of those buttons. But no, these are riveted buttons, and they can't just be transferred from spot to spot. I would have to buy a button and sew it on myself. Not a big deal, to anyone else that is. For me it was not going to be so simple. I decided that I would not just buy any old button, this jacket deserved better then that. I made a decision that I would only replace the said, lost button, with one I found on this art trip. Of course the button would have to fit into the hole, but that was my only criteria. There, I had promised myself that I would only replace the button with one I found, in the next three months while on this art trip. Simple enough. I considered the possibility that maybe I wouldn't find a button while away. This seemed like an unacceptable option, so I was sticking with my promise, with my new button plan.

If I was out on a hike, I always had an eye out for a wayward button. If I was strolling through a village or its shops, my eyes regularly scanned the floor in search of my much needed treasure. It was looking like I was never going to find my button, months had gone by, and nary a button to be found. And then a miracle. Okay, maybe not a miracle, but a button. I spotted a button lying on a market floor. A poor lost, lonely button, waiting to be found. Or more likely, it was ripped from its previous owners clothing because they couldn't stand it any longer. It was the ugliest, brightest, homeliest button ever made. "Great." was all I said to myself as I bent over and picked it up. "Maybe it won't fit into my button hole?" I told myself. It was a hideous orange color. The kind of orange they put on road cones to get your attention when you are driving through a construction site. I tried it in the button hole. It was a perfect fit. Of course it was! I laughed and thought "Well, that's what you get for promising to do such a stupid thing." I got what I asked for. I asked the universe to help me find a button on this tip that would fit my coat, and I did. Damn it, I did. So today, finally, I sit with needle and thread in hand, about to attach the new prized piece to my jacket. Why? Because I promised myself I would, and if I make a promise, I keep it. Even a ridiculous button promise. For some unknown reason, as I picked up the jacket to begin attaching the button, my eyes went to the label sewn just beneath the coats collar. I smiled when I read its words. "I am more than just a piece of clothing, I was designed to be found by you." So next time you see me, and my ugly new button, smile and know that I am exactly the kind of foolish girl that makes button promises and is happy to do so.

On an artistic note, I am proud and honored to tell you that I just sold the 5 foot by 5 foot painting that I only just completed this last week. The painting is of the little village that I lived in while I was on the Isle of Man, as seen from a little path known as Postman's Road. I will post a picture of it as soon as I get it from the framers. (I had posted a work in progress photo of it on facebook a few weeks ago). This is the second piece from the Italy/Isle of Man series that has sold in the last month and I couldn't be happier. (the other piece was the umbrella-village scene) I just recently had the other four pieces framed in lovely Italian wooden frames and they look great, and are ready to go on display. I am just about to begin another piece that was inspired by the Isle of Man. This piece will be of a sun streamed path, set deep inside the stunning Arrasey Plantation. I look forward to its creation.

I leave you with this promise. I promise to live this life, this precious, precious life, to the fullest and the best of my abilities, all while proudly wearing a big, ugly button!

]]>BlogMon, 02 Mar 2015 00:06:00 +0000It doesn't matter where I am going, as long as I like where I end up.http://pattyfeist.creativeconnectors.com/blog/43-it-doesn-t-matter-where-i-am-going-as-long-as-i-like-where-i-end-up.html
http://pattyfeist.creativeconnectors.com/blog/43-it-doesn-t-matter-where-i-am-going-as-long-as-i-like-where-i-end-up.html

The wonderful thing about not knowing where you are going, is that you can never be lost. It doesn't matter where I am going, as long as I like where I end up. There is something very comforting in allowing oneself that freedom. This doesn't just pertain to travel, but to life.

Hiking along the coastal trail is one of my favorite things to do here on the Isle of Man, and today I find myself, once again, on the cliffside path. The winds are blowing hard today but I know my trusty new quilted jacket wll keep me warm and I don't think much about the 47kph (knot) winds. Today I have given myself a personal challenge, to walk the miles of this cliffside path without stepping into a puddle. You may laugh, but trust me when I say this is going to be far from simple. I don't get too far along before I reach the first section of the narrow trail that is pure liquid. I stop for a second and eye up the steep slopes on either side making sure it is safe for me to put my hands on its surface. I lean on the tall grass and climb up. I walk along my steep perch until I pass the dreaded soupy mess. The island is lush and green, but not every plant here is of the friendly variety. The endless Heather is beautiful, but prickly, and the ever present Goss is downright evil. It's spikey, woody, stalks lurk everywhere, just waiting for you to make the mistake of bumping into them, at which point your clothing will be instantaneously shredded, not to mention what it does to your flesh. It attempts to disguise its sinister ways by covering itself in bright yellow flowers, but I have made the mistake of touching it and I don't plan on repeating that unpleasant experience. If the Goss doesn't get you the wild Blackberyy vines will. Their gangly arms protrude from the side of the trail everywhere and I already have several holes in my prized jacket because of it.

The winds are much stronger than I realized and I find myself being blown off balance regularly. If anyone were to see me they would probably think I was drunk. I stumble to the right as the wind comes in off the sea, I adjust myself to counter the wind just in time for it to cease blowing, causing me to stumble towards the sea. When the wind hits me from the front I think "lean in Patty, lean in" then it stops and I stumble forward. I move cautiously along the steep cliff sections, ever mindful of the wind now. Being the ever stubborn gal that I am, I never once consider retreating. Avoid the puddles, stay upright, I got this. This continues for abut 45 minutes before I reach the section of the trail that I know is going to be my biggest challenge.

Picture a narrow path sliced through the 6 foot Goss bushes that are on both sides. The path itself is long gone beneath a stinky, watery black ooze that I have never once been able to avoid contact with. I stop and stare at it, I can smell the water, and I search for an alternate route. There isn't one, so I walk backwards on the trail until I find an area that I think I can get through. I leave the path and walk through the tall grasses. I don't get far when I feel pain in my shin and I freeze in my tracks, my eyes look downward to the dreaded black berry vine which has embedded itself in my jeans. It feels like barbed wire. I unhinge it from my pants and look around at my options. There aren't any, so with a big sigh, I turn around in the direction of the trail. One after the other I plunge my hiking boots into the disgusting muck and attempt to avoid the Gossy spikes that threaten me from the sides. Mother Nature one - Patty zero. But it's okay, because I am going to have a capppucino and a creme covered scone when I reach the end of the trail and the coastal town of Peel.!

After two months on this lovely island I find myself driving in the direction of the airport. The airport is located in "Castle Town." I love everything about this island, the sights, the people, the names, and the sea. I shall miss everything about it. I will forever hold it in a special place in my heart.

Thank you universe for nestling me under your wing and keeping me safe as I meandered my way across Italy and the Isle of Man. Thank you for the wind on my face, the grass under my boots, the paint beneath my brush and the memories that live in my heart. This little travelling artist is most grateful. Until it is time to move again, thank you, for this life, for this time.

(Now safely tucked atop my snowy mountain back in Canada, I am about to begin painting a 5foot x 5foot piece inspired by the beautiful Isle of Man. I will post it to the website when it is complete)

The most beautiful things are those felt with my heart, rather than those seen with my eyes.

Fitting my luggage and art portfolio into my micro sized rental car, which I aptly named "Baby Belle" is not easy. My portfolio is almost larger than my car. She is so delicate, this little car, that she almost breaks into tears at the sight of a steep hill. On one occasion she downright refused to go up a country lane. I am fairly certain she thought it would take far more energy then she thought ladylike to expend. If I didn't have ample speed, hills were out of the question. Today will be our last ride together and I will actually miss her. With keys in hand, I close the door to my Italian home one final time. The weeks have flown by in a blur of decadent wines, mouthwatering meals and countless hours spent painting inside the Tuscan fortress that was my home. A few tears escape as I drive off, leaving Buonconvento to fade in the distance. I aim Baby Belle in the direction of the airport, it's time for a change of scenery.

The airline attendant checking me in suspiciously eyes the four foot long canister tucked under my arm. In a somewhat questionable tone she asks me "What's in there?" I explain it contains three of my paintings. There is a moment of silence and then she enquires again, "What are you planning on doing with it?" To which I reply confidently, "Carrying it on." I am informed that may be a problem due to it's size. Being the determined little thing that I am, I look her straight in the eye and offer back "Then I will wear them. I am not checking them under the plane." Images of Joseph's Technicolor Dreamcoat come to mind, but if I have to, I will. Thankfully, I don't have to.

Nestled on an island, deep in the middle of the Irish Sea, my new cottage is more than I dreamed it would be. One would never know it was once a stone barn that housed.................wait for it.................................pigs. Yep, pigs. To my city friends in NYC, yep, I am sleeping in a pig barn. I know you are smiling right now, imagining me, and the pigs. But fear not, this particular pig barn is equipped with 3 iron chandeliers which are hanging between the original rustic beams in the lofted upper level of the cottage. Below, on the first floor, I find a jacuzzi bath and the comfy, coziest, white down duvet covered bed, suitable for even the fanciest of girls. Two stories of sheer heaven. My little barn is set inside one of the most amazing glen's on the island. (Glen being a Scottish term for a deep valley with water running through it that leads to the sea.) Here on the Isle Of Man beauty abounds, and I am grateful to find myself smack dab in the middle of it.The Isle Of Man, where roads are given names like the "Lhergy Cripperty" and speed signs basically say "Go ahead, drive as fast as you want, we trust you" and the closest thing to a traffic jam is when a herd of wayward sheep overtake the roads. The Isle Of Man, home to the lucky few that drive daily down winding roads that surely were the inspiration for the scene in "Sleepy Hollow" where the "Headless Horseman" rides wildly down that dark tree line road, with the light illuminating at it's end. It would seem that almost every road here is lined with rows of trees, yearningly arching wildly overhead as if desiring to entwine it's branches with those of the trees on the other side. Like mother nature's leafy embrace. The result of which gives one the feeling you are rolling through lush tunnels, curving to the left, to the right. Every tree is smothered in English Ivy from its base to it's highest tip. This is the standard vision of a road on the island. The sight of which causes me to stop mid-sentence every time, as I take in the awe inspiring sight. Now just imagine that beautiful sight, then the sound of a superbike racing along at speeds that one can't imagine until you have seen it with your own eyes. Those are the sounds and sights of the Isle Of Man during TT week, which occurs in May-June of every year. Because this is the road racing capital of the world. Incredibly surprising, incredibly lovely and I am incredibly grateful to be here.

For those that prefer a slightly slower pace, there are endless footpaths on the island. There are trails meandering through fairytale glens, winding through sheep filled farmers fields, hanging on seaside cliffs and some deep in the thick forests. On one particular coastal walk I spy something red on the cliff below my path. Being the curious soul that I am, I climb down off my path to get a better look. Standing vertical I stare directly into a tiny little clump of red mushrooms. I have never before seen a red mushroom, and these particular ones appear to be molded out of red Jello. A sight that brings a smile to my face. A gust of wind blows me slightly off balance and I adjust my footing and rest my hands next to the mushroom treasure in front of my face. Something tells me "Turn around Patty." As I do so, my eyes go down to the rocks and sea below. One wrong move and I think to myself, "That would suck." I carefully climb back up and continue my walk. There is a lightness in my heart and I am happy for its presence.

Approaching a gallery can be an intimidating task for most artists, and I am no exception. But, seeing as I have carried my paintings across Europe, I figure I should give it a go. As fate would have it, six days later, two of my Italian paintings are hanging inside the gallery. I had just enough time to have them framed for the exhibits opening. During the reception the gallery owner approaches me and smiles. He congratulates me on getting into the show. With a nod of his head in the direction of one of my pieces he tells me "Well done, you have been on the island only a short time and you are already in a gallery. It takes most artists two to three years to get into a gallery here." I thank him and can't help but be once again grateful. Grateful for the opportunity, grateful for Jello mushrooms, tree covered roadways and this islands never ending beauty.

It is neither strength nor bravery that guides me on this journey, but rather a spirited desire to explore life and everything it has to offer with fresh eyes and an honest heart.

I have received numerous notes from people telling me how brave I am for doing this adventure, for throwing everything up in the air and just going, going somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, and all alone. Believe me when I say it's wonderful and not scary at all, and I am grateful. As I awake each day, under the ancient arched ceilings of my medieval Tuscan home, the knowledge that the day is free to be whatever I want it to be is a beautiful thing. And damn it, I am going to make each day a good one.

Everything about the Castello Banfi Montalcino winery is spectacular. From the patio I can see the ocean, and in the distance across the water, Montecristo. The skies are sheer perfection today. There is a clarity in the air that allows the eye to see vast and distant sights. The vineyard covered rolling hills are endless, the hlltop villas numerous, and the silvery grey olive groves are easily recognizable. Today is a day not to be taken for granted. This is the second winery of the day and I am about to have lunch inside the Castello. The dining room, with it's carved ceilings, wooden beams and gothic iron chandeliers is quite the vision. Not one to be missed. Inside these walls one cannot help but feel the embrace of mother Italy, like a warm blanket wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. The Brunello wines of Banfi Montalcino are some of the best in the world they say. I would tend to agree. The rich, deep brown color is what the wine is named after. Brunello, meaning brown. The winery tour is spectacular, the history enchanting and the visual beauty something to remember.

I am neither brave nor strong when I arrive at the villa set high in the mountains above the small village it watches over. What I am is tired and hungry. It is late and there is a big day ahead tomorrow. The first day of olive oil season is upon us, and I am here to photograph and observe it. After a good nights sleep in the villa I awake and set out down the long, cypress tree lined, winding driveway in anticipation of my first cappucino of the day at the villages coffee bar. (And yes, croissant too.) I stop my car as the owner of the villa drives up in the opposite direction and we squeeze our vehicles together in an attempt not to go into the ditches on either side. Now this is the fun part. My Italian friend here, speaks very little English, and I, well I speak a great deal of English and that is about it. After a little bit of language charades and the smile on his face I come to understand that I am to go and enjoy my coffee and hurry back as the olive oil process will begin soon.

The Frantoio, (the Italian word for oil mill), is bustling with actvity this morning. Just outside the oversized doors there is a large stainless steel, cone shaped, funnel that has been filled with 800 kg of fresh olives. If ever I had any doubt as to where I am, one look into the depths of the olives reminds me with a gentle whisper "Italy darling, you are in Italy." The air is thick with the enticing scent of olives. The colorful skins are a sight to behold. Bright greens, black, burgundy, all beautifully mounded in their resting place. The harvest waits patiently for its transformation, like caterpillar to butterfly. Extending from the funnel is the converyor belt, eagerly awaiting its first load of the season. The sounds escaping the Frantoio are not unlike that of a jet engine. Earplugs are a wise choice. Over the next several hours I watch the olives move through the production line. The leaves are separated and the olives are washed, then pressed, and churned into a thick brown paste. Then it happens, we get the first glimpse of the brilliant, lime green liquid. There is a magical glow to the oil as it makes its appearance. It's as though it is being lit by an invisible light, truly shocking. There is the promise of fresh oil on our bread with dinner this evening. Excitement and anticipation is evident in the eyes of the men who work in the Frantoio, but there is also tension. Tension because this is the worst year ever recorded for the olive harvest. There is a disease that has affected the groves and has caused the olives to prematurely fall from their branches. This has created a massive shortage of olives for the oil industry. It is going to be a devastating year for Frantoio's across the country. It is late by the time production comes to an end, after a pasta dinner it is off to bed for some much needed rest.

And today, I paint. I am back in my Buonconvento paradise. My mind is full of memories of the past few weeks. Memories of the walled city of Lucca, with its moody skies sprinkling out a short lived tantrum. The colorful umbrellas, whose reflections paint their own beauty on the rain soaked, cobbled streets. The olives, oh the olives, and the rolling hills, all visions that are certain to turn up in my artwork in the coming days.

Today I will let the honesty flow from my brush and onto the canvas. No bravery, no strength, just heart and paint. Each piece that every artist creates is in itself a serving of an honest emotion. Our hearts, our memories, our souls. And so I paint.

When the stars align, especially in life, one must savor the moment and remember to be grateful. Thus has been my experience as I travel by the seat of my pants across Italy.

Travelling with no plans and no restrictions is proving to be spectacularly fun. Okay, maybe I don't know how to buy groceries when everything is labelled in Italian, or distinguish a fire exit when I see one, and sure I may not know how to read an Italian menu, but I have become very good at what I refer to as "language charades. Apparently it is a universal method of communicating. When all else fails, smile and make gestures with your hands. Somehow it all works out.

My final evening in Renaissance Florence is spent with an adorable couple from England that I meet as I am sittin atop the stunning rooftop terrace of the Grand Hotel Cavour. With a small swivel of my head I can see the massive arches of the Piazza del Duomo, the Piazza del Signoria, as well as the Voognana Tower of Palazzo del Bergello, all a mere stones throw away. It is hard not to imagine the executions that once took place in the yard of the Bargello. With so much history surrounnding me it is easy to get swept off into a distant time. But right now I am enjoying the conversation with my new friends, and in no time at all we find ourselves walking the streets of Florence to a nearby restaurant. Dining in what could easily substitute as an airline hangar due to its size, one can't help but be in awe of the establishment's decor. Hanging from the massive ceilings heights are numerous hand woven baskets. Each basket is easily 20 feet tall, and 10 feet wide. Each basket is of a different shape and each houses a soft lighting which is illuminating from deep within its core. The effect is fabulous. The evening equally as memorable.

The next morning I manage to cross the Tuscan countryside in the rental car that I have acquired, and make my way to the medieval village that is to be my new home. The GPS that I purchased in Canada has proved to be highly entertaining.. I have learned two things about her. One, she cannot count, two, she has absolutely no grasp on the beautiful Italian language. She manages to completely mangle each and every word she speaks, but somehow I decipher her strangled instructions and reach my intended destination.

My Tuscan escape is everything I could have hoped for. The warmth and life my new home breaths is perfection. I am situated inside the walls of the village, and I embrace everything about it. I am going to love it here. Over the days that follow I travel from Pienza to Pisa. Each day is spent meandering through little hilltop villages, photographing the breathtaking views. The skyscrapers of San Gimignano, the olive groves of Montalcino, or the rolling hills of D'Orcia. There is no end to this countries beauty it would seem. When I am not sightseeing, my time is spent sipping fine wines, dining on enough pasta, cheese and bread to put me into a food coma, or working on new paintings that have been inspired by the previous days adventures. What once was a cozy little kitchen has now been transformed into a bustling art studio. Thus far I have painted 3 pieces, and look forward to painting more and more.

Tonight I find myself driving back in the direction of Florence. I am going to the home of someone that I have never met before, and I am in no way unnerved about it. Only a sense of adventure bobs about in my mind. I am on my way to the villa of a talented and beautiful sculptor. Somehow I have been invited to attend a very special dinner party. This dinner is going to be filmed by a famous L.A. film producer for his latest movie. In an attempt at keeping the scene authentic, the producer asked that the dinner guests be actual artists. That is why I am going to attend. It certainly won't be due to my acting skills or my ability to speak fluent Italian. I am there solely as an artist. Upon my arival I am met in the gardens of the villa by a tall, stunning woman with a beautiful smile. I will quickly discover her heart is as big as her smile.

The next six hours fly by, and some new friendships have been forged. The scenes are filmed and the entire process is both foreign and wonderful. The traditional Tuscan dinner that was featured in the movie was certainly the best food that I have eaten in Italy thus far. A true feast. By the end of the evening I have been invited back to stay at the villa for as long as I want. "Come stay for the winter" they offer with open arms. Such kindness, thoughtfulness, and love. Their generosity and kindness will never be forgotten and they will forever hold a place in my heart and my memory.

So you see, when the stars align, all we need to do is lie back and watch the wonders unfold. We will not be disappointed. There is much light in the world, all we need to do is allow it to shine on us, and to recognize it and be grateful for it when it does.

Have you ever had the desire to hop on a plane, with the destination unknown, and nothing more than intuition to guide you? Me too, and so it all begins right now.

With my eyes closed I lean back into the head rest of the noisy DeHavilland's well worn leather seat. As the loud buzzing of the turbo propped beast's engines invade my ears, a cartoon image pops into mind. I see a troupe of what looks like chubby bumble bees coming out of the thick cloud cover. They are sporting old fashioned flight goggles, and flying in sloppy formation. Sitting atop the lead bee is yours truly. My auburn curls blowing furiously in the wind and my wide smile is dangerously close to attracting oncoming flying insects. Strapped to my back is my artist's portfolio, stocked with enough supplies to paint several masterpieces, all to be inspired by what lies ahead. I don't have a clue where I am going, and I couldn't be happier. Much like the determined, yet clumsy unit flying behind me, I have no doubt I am going to reach my destination safely. Wherever that may be. I have a strong sense that all I am required to do is move forward with open arms, an open mind, and above all, an open heart. The days, weeks, or maybe months ahead will be determined not by me, but by something far more significant. Faith. Faith that it will all work out as it should.

My first stop, Italy. I have no idea how long I will be in Italy, or where I will go when I feel the desire for change. I may be away a month, I may be away for 4 months. All I know is today I sit in the middle of Florence, Sketch book in hand and the sounds of all things Italian surrounding me. Tomorrow will be another story, as I will head in the direction of the beautiful Tuscan landscape that promises beauty, fine wines and new adventures.

Stay tuned for the next page in what is sure to be an inspiring, surprising and wonderful adventure for this little wandering artist.

(in case you are wondering about the photo.... As the Italian women enjoyed their cigarettes and early morning chit chat, a tiny delivery truck pulled up in front of the hanging basket below. A gentleman got out and walked to the back of the miniscule van. He opened the doors, took out 2 loaves of fresh bread. He approached the basket, took out the awaiting euros and replaced them with the baked goods. Possibly the sweetest delivery system I have witnessed.)